


Twilight: A Sheith AU

by orphan_account



Series: Twilight Sheith AU Saga [1]
Category: Voltron: Defender of the Universe (1984), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Twilight AU, Twilight References, twilight - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-21 17:51:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17647133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: DISCLAIMER: This book is heavily, if not almost copied off of Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. The characters are from Dreamworks: Voltron Legendary Defenders. I do not stake claim on any of the characters or dialogue.About three things Keith was absolutely positive. First, Shiro was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him- and Keith didn't know how dominant that part might be- that thirsted for his blood. And third,  Keith was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.I hope you enjoy the book! I might recreate the whole saga, if I feel up to it... :) Leave comments please! They're the only thing that keeps my humor up to date. Tell me if you enjoy it or if I made any mistakes! Thank you, enjoy!





	1. Preface

But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die. Genesis 2:17

 

Keith had never given much thought to how he would die- though he had reason enough in the last few months- but even if he had, he would not have imagined it like this.

He stared without breathing across the long room, into the dark eyes of the hunter, who looked pleasantly back at Keith.

Surely it was a good way to die, Keith thought to himself, in the place of someone else, someone he had loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

Keith knew that if he had never gone to Forks, he wouldn't be facing death right now. But, terrified as he was, he couldn't bring himself to regret the decision. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, its not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

The hunter smiled in a friendly way as he sauntered forward to kill Keith.


	2. First Sight

Tex drove Keith to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. Keith was wearing his favorite shirt- sleeveless, red eyelet lace; he was wearing it as a farewell gesture. His carry-on item was a red hoodie.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that Keiths father escaped with him when he was only a few months old. It was in this town that he had been compelled to spend a month every summer until he was fourteen. That was the year he finally put his foot down; the past three summers, Keiths mom, Krolia, vacationed with him in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Forks that Keith now exiled himself- an action that he took with great horror. Keith detested Forks.

Keith loved Phoenix. He loved the sun and the blistering heat. He loved the vigorous, sprawling city.

"Keith," Tex said to him- the last of a thousand times- before he got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

Tex looks like him, except with shorter hair, a beard, and laugh lines. Keith felt a spasm of panic as he stared at his dads wide childlike eyes. How could he leave his loving, erratic, harebrained father to fend for himself? Of course he had Sandra now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in his car, and someone to call when he got lost, but still...

"I want to go," Keith lied. He had always been a bad liar, but he had been saying this lie so frequently lately that is sounded almost convincing now.

"Tell Krolia I said hi." 

"I will." Keith sighed.

"I'll see you soon," he insisted. "You can come home whenever you want- I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But Keith could see the sacrifice in his eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," Keith urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Dad."

He hugged Keith tightly for a minute, and then Keith got on the plane, and he was gone.

It was a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother Keith; the hour in the car with Krolia, though, Keith was a little worried about.

Krolia had really been fairly nice about the whole thing. She seemed genuinely pleased that Keith was coming to live with her for the first time with any degree of permanence. She had already gotten him registered for high school and was going to help get Keith a car.

But it was sure to be awkward with Krolia. Neither of them was what anyone would call verbose, and Keith didn't know what there was to say regardless. Keith knew she was a little confused by his decision- like my father before him, Keith hadn't made secret of his distaste in Forks.

When Keith landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. He didn't see it as an omen- just unavoidable. He had already said his goodbyes to the sun. 

Krolia was waiting for him with the cruiser. This, he was expecting too. Krolia is Chief of Police Kogane to the good people of Forks. Keiths primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of his funds, was that he refused to be driven around in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Krolia gave Keith an awkward one-armed hug when he stumbled his way off of the plane.

"It's good to see you, Keefers," she said, smiling as she automatically caught and steading me. "You haven't changed much. How's Tex?"

"Dad's fine. It's good to see you, too, Mom." Keith wasn't allowed to call her Krolia to her face. Keith only had a few bags. Most of his Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. Keith and his dad had pooled their resources to supplement Keiths winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," Krolia announced when we were strapped in.

"What kind of car?" Keith was suspicious of the way she said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Antok Marmora down at La Blade?" La Blade is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.

"No."

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Krolia prompted.

That would explain why Keith didn't remember him. He does a good job of blocking painful, unnecessary things from his memory.

"He's in a wheelchair now," Krolia continued when he didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"What year is it?" Keith could see from her change of expression that that was the question she had hoped Keith wouldn't ask.

"Well, Antok's done a lot of work on the engine- it's only a few years old, really."

Keith hoped she didn't think so little of him as to believe he would give up that easily. "When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties- or late fifties at the earliest," she admitted sheepishly.

"Kr-Mom, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic...."

"Really, Keith, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

The thing, Keith thought to himself... it had possibilities- as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the part Keith couldn't compromise on.

"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Krolia peeked sideways at Keith with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Mom. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." She was looking ahead at the road when she said this. Krolia wasn't comfortable with expressing her emotions out loud. Keith inherited that from her. So Keith was looking straight ahead as he responded.

"That's really nice, Mom. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility, Keith thought to himself. Krolia didn't need to suffer along with him. And Keith never looked a free truck in the mouth- or engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," she mumbled, embarrassed by Keiths thanks.

They exchanged a few more comments on weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. They stared out the windows in silence.

It was beautiful, of course; Keith couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves.

It was too green- an alien planet.

Eventually we made it to Krolia's. She still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that she'd bought with Keiths father in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage ever had- the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was Keiths new- well, new to him- truck. It was a faded red color, with big rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To Keiths intense surprise, he loved it. He didn't know if it would run, but he could see himself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged- the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed.

"Wow, Mom, I love it! Thanks!" Now Keiths horrific day tomorrow would be that much less dreadful. He wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser.

"I'm glad you like it," Krolia said gruffly, embarrassed again. It took only one trip to get all of Keiths stuff upstairs. Keith got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to Keith since he was born. The wooden floor, the light grey walls, the peaked ceiling, the reddened lace curtains around the window- these were all part of his childhood. The only changes Krolia had made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as Keith grew. The desk now held a secondhand computer, with a phone line for the modem stapled along the floor to the nearest phone jack. This was a stipulation from Keiths father, so that they could stay in touch easily. The rocking chair from Keiths baby days was still in the corner.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which Keith would have to share with Krolia. He tried not to dwell too much on that fact.

One of the best things about Krolia is that she doesn't hover. She left Keith alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for his father. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. Keith wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. He would save that for bedtime, when he would have to think about the coming morning.

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven - now fifty-eight -students; there were more than seven hundred people in Keiths junior class alone back at home. All of the kids here had grown up together- their grandparents had been toddlers together. He would be the new kid from the big city, a curiosity, a freak.

Maybe if he looked like a guy from Phoenix should, he could work this into his advantage. But physically, he had never fit in anywhere. He should be tan, sporty, blond- a football player or a swimmer, perhaps- all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun.

Instead, he was ivory skinned, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine. He had always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously more feminine than masculine, if his hips had anything to say about it. Definitely not an athlete; He didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without embarrassing himself- and harming himself and anyone else who stood too close.

When Keith finished putting his clothes in the old pine dresser, he took his bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean himself up after the day of travel. He looked at his face in the mirror as he brushed his tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already he noticed he looked sallower, unhealthy. His skin could be pretty- it was very clear, almost translucent-looking- but it all depended on color, and he had no color here.

Facing his pallid reflection in the mirror, Keith was forced to admit that he was lying to himself. It wasn't just physically where he had never fit in. And if he couldn't find a niche in a school of three thousand people, what were his chances here?

Keith didn't relate well to people his age. Maybe the truth was that Keith didn't relate well to people, period. Even his father, who he was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with him, never exactly on the same page. Sometimes he wondered if he was seeing the the same things through his eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in his brain, he mused. But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning. 

Keith didn't sleep well that night, even after he was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. He pulled the faded quilt over his head, and later added the pillow, too. But he couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

Thick fog was all he could see out of his window in the morning, and he could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on him. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.

Breakfast with Krolia was a quiet event. She wished Keith good luck at school. Keith just thanked him, knowing her hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid Keith. Krolia left first, off to the police station that was her husband and family. After she left, Keith sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined her small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, dark grey cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed. Keiths father had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine to the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Krolia and Keiths dad in Las Vegas, then one of the three of them in the hospital after Keith was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of Keiths school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at- Keith would have to see what he could do to get Krolia to put them somewhere else, at least while he was living here.

It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Krolia had never gotten over Keiths dad. It made Keith uncomfortable.

Keith didn't want to be too early to school, but he couldn't stay in the house anymore. He donned his jacket- which had the feel of a bio-hazard suit- and headed out into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak Keith through immediately as he reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of his new waterproof boots was unnerving. He missed the normal crunch of gravel as he walked. He couldn't pause to admire his truck again as he had wanted to; he was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around his head and clung to his hair under his hood.

Inside the truck, it was nice an dry. Either Antok or Krolia had obviously cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to Keiths relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique raio worked, a plus that Keith hadn't expected or dared to hope for.

Finding the school wasn't difficult. though Keith had never been there before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it to be Forks High School, made Keith stop. It looked like a collection of matching housed, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs that he couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? He wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain link fences, the metal detectors?

Keith parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading 'FRONT OFFICE.' No one else was parked over there, so Keith was sure it was off limits, but he decided he would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. He stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. He took in a deep breath before opening the door. 

Inside it was brightly lit, and warmer than he had hoped. The office was small, a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, ad if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wired baskets full of papers and brightly covered flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made Keith feel strangely overdressed. 

The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Keith Kogane," Keith informed her, and he saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. He was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Son of the Chiefs flighty ex-husband, come home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show Keith.

She went through Keiths classes for him, highlighting the best route on each map, and gave him a slip to have each teacher sign, which Keith was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at Keith and hoped, like Krolia, that he would like it here in Forks. Keith smiled back as convincingly as he could.

When he went back out to his truck, other students were starting to arrive. Keith drove around the school, following the line of traffic. He was glad to see that most of cars were older just like his, nothing flashy. At home Keith had lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, Keith cut the engine as soon as he was in a spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw any attention to him.

He looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now; hopefully he wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of his nose all day. Keith stuffed everything in his bag, slung the strap over his shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. 'I can do this', he thought to himself feebly. No one was gonna bite him, after all. He finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.

He kept his face pulled back into his hood as he walked to the sidewalk, which was crowded with teenagers. His plain red jacket didn't stand out, he noticed with relief. 

Once he got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black '3' was painted on a white square on the east corner. Keith felt his breathing gradually creeping towards hyperventilation as he approached the door. He tried holding his breath as he followed two unisex raincoats through the door.

The classroom was small, Keith realized. The people in front of him stopped just outside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks. He copied them. They were two girls, one a porcelain-colored blonde, the other also pale, with light brown hair. At least his ivory skin wouldn't stand out here.

He took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a name plate identifying him as 'Mr. Smithe'. He gawked at Keith when he saw his name- not an encouraging response- and of course, Keith flushed tomato red. But at least he sent Keith to the empty desk in the back, without introducing Keith to the class. It was harder for Keiths classmates to stare at him in the back, but somehow, they managed. He kept his eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given him. It was fairly basic: Shelley, Shakespeare, Meyer, Collins. Keith had already read everything. That was comforting... and boring. Keith wondered if his dad would send him a folder of old essays, or if he would think Keith is cheating. He went through different arguments in his head while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with skin problems and hair white as snow leaned across the table to talk to Keith.

"You're Keith Kogane, Chief Koganes son, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.

"Just Keith is fine," he corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at Keith.

"Where's your next class?" he asked.

Keith had to check in his bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building six."

There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes, Keith noticed.

"I'm headed toward building four, I could show you the way..." Definitely over-helpful. "I'm Rolo," he added.

Keith smiled tentatively. "Thanks."

They got their jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. Keith could have sworn several people were walking close enough to eavesdrop. He hoped he wasn't getting paranoid.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.

"Very."

"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year."

"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.

"Sunny," Keith told him.

"You don't look very tan."

"My father is part albino."

He studied Keiths face apprehensively, and Keith sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and Keith would forget how to use sarcasm.

They walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Rolo walked Keith right to the door, though it was clearly marked.

"Well, good luck," he said as Keith touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." Rolo sounded hopeful.

Keith smiled at him vaguely and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. Keiths Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Daibazaal, who he would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made Keith stand in front of the class and introduce himself. He stammered, blushed, and tripped over his boots on the way back to his seat.

After two classes, he started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask Keith questions about how he was liking Forks. He tried to be diplomatic, but he mostly just lied a lot. At least he never needed the map.

One girl sat next to him in Trig and Spanish, and she walked with him to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than Keiths own five feet and seven inches, but her long straight pretty hair made up a lot of the difference between their heights. He couldn't remember her name, so he smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. He didn't try to keep up.

They sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced Keith to. He forgot all of their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to him. The boy from English, Rolo, waved at Keith from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that Keith first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where Keith sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They weren't gawking at Keith, unlike most of the other students, so it was safe to stare at them without fear of meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was none of those things that caught, and held, his attention.

They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big- muscled like a serious weight lifter, he had a bit of pudge, with dark, shaggy hair and a headband. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and bronze hair. The last was broad shouldered, he could rival a dorito, his hair an untidy black, with a white forelock. He was more boyish than the others, who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers rather than students.

The girls were opposites. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, the kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room. Her hair was snow white, gently waving to the middle of her back. The short girl was pixie-like, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a light bronze, cropped and short and pointing in every direction.

And yet, they were all exactly alike, Every one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. Paler than Keith, the albino. They all had very dark eyes despite the range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under their eyes- purplish, bruise-like shadows. As if they were all suffering from sleepless night, or almost done recovering from a broken nose. Though their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect, angular.

But all this is not why Keith couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful- maybe the perfect snowy hair girl, or the boy with the white forelock.

They were all looking away- away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything in particular as far as Keith could tell. As he watched, the small girl rose with her tray- unopened soda, unbitten apple- and walked with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. Keith watched, amazed at her lithe dancer's step, till she dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than he would have thought possible. His eyes dartd back to the others, who sat unchanging.

"Who are they?" Keith asked the girl from his Spanish class, whose name he had forgotten.

As she looked up to see who Keith meant- though already knowing, probably from his tone- suddenly he looked at her, the broad one, the boyish one, the youngest, perhaps. He looked at Keiths neighbor for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered to Keiths.

He looked away quickly, more quickly than Keith could, though in a flush of embarrassment Keith dropped his eyes at once. In that brief flash of a glance, his face held nothing of interest- it was as if she had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.

Keiths neighbor giggled in embarrassment, looking at the table like Keith did.

"That's Shiro Gunderson and Hunk Gunderson, and Allura Gunderson and Matt Holt. The one who left was Pidge Holt; they all live together with Dr. Sam Holt and his wife." She said this under her breath.

Keith glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces with long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three still looked away, and yet Keith still felt he was speaking quietly to them.

Strange, unpopular names, Keith thought. The kinds of names grandparents from different countries had. But maybe that was in vogue here- small town names? Keith finally remembered that his neighbor was called Nyma, a perfectly common name. There were two girls named Nyma in his history class back home. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

"They are... very nice-looking." Keith struggled with the conspicuous understatement.

"Yes!" Nyma agreed with another giggle. "They're all together though- Matt and Allura, and Hunk and Pidge, I mean. And they live together." Her voice held all the shock and condemnation of a small town, Keith thought critically. But if he was being honest, he had to admit that even in Phoenix, it would cause gossip.

"Which ones are the Holts?" Keith asked. "They don't look related...."

"Oh, they're not. Dr. Holt is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Holts are brother and sister, twins- bronzey hair- and they're foster children."

"They look a little old for foster children."

"They are now, Pidge and Matt are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Holt since they were eight. Shes their aunt or something like that."

"That's really kind of nice- for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Nyma admitted reluctantly, Keith got the impression that she didn't like the doctor and his wife for some reason. With the glances she was throwing at their adoptive children, Keith would presume the reason was jealousy. "I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids, though," she added, as if that lessened their kindness.

Throughout all this conversation, Keith's eyes flickered again and again to the table where the strange family sat. They continued to look at the walls and not eat.

"Have they always lived in Forks?" he asked. Surely he would have noticed them on one of his summers here.

"No," she said in a voice that implied it should be obvious, even to a new arrival like Keith. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."

Keith felt a surge of pity, and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that he wasn't the only newcomer here, and certainly not the most interesting by any standard.

As he examined them, the youngest, one of the Gundersons, looked up and met his gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As Keith looked swiftly away, it seemed to Keith that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

"Which one is the boy with the black and white hair?" Keith asked. He peeked at him from the corner of his eye, and he was still staring at Keith, but not gawking like the other students had earlier in the day- he had a slightly frustrated expression. Keith looked down again.

"That's Shiro. He's gorgeous, or course, but don't waste your time. He doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him." She sniffed, a clear case of sour grapes. Keith heard a distant snort of laughter and looked to the source, only to find the Gundersons and Holt's laughing at some joke that must have been told, and Shiro looking utterly mortified. Keith wondered when Shiro had turned down Nyma.

Keith bit his lip to hide his smile. Then he glanced at Shiro again. His face was turned away now, but Keith noticed his cheeks were red and his cheeks were uplifted, as if he understood the same side of the joke that Keith did. Shiro looked as if he were smiling, too.

After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. They were all noticeably graceful- even the big, muscly one. It was unsettling to watch. The one named Shiro didn't look towards Keith again.

Keith sat at the table with Nyma and her friends longer than he would have if he had been sitting alone. He was anxious not to be late for his first day. One of his new acquaintances, who considerately reminded him that her name was Plaxum, had Biology II with him the next hour. They walked to class together in silence. She was shy, too.

When they entered the classroom, Plaxum went to sit at a black-topped lab table exactly like the ones Keith was used to. She already had a neighbor. In fact, all the tables were filled but one. Next to the near center aisle, Keith recognized Shiro Gunderson by his unusual hair, sitting next to that single open seat.

As Keith walked down the aisle to introduce himself to the teacher and get his slip signed, he was watching him surreptitiously. Just as Keith passed, Shiro suddenly went rigid in his seat. He stared at Keith again, meeting his eyes with the strangest expression on his face- it was hostile, furious. Keith looked away quickly, shocked, going red again. He stumbled over a book in the walkway and had to catch himself on the edge of the table. The girl sitting there giggled at him.

Keith noticed that Shiro's eyes were black- coal black.

Mrs. Trigel signed his slip and handed him a book with no nonsense about instructions. Keith could tell they were going to get along. Of course, she had no choice but to send Keith to the one open seat in the middle of the room. He kept his eyes down as he went to sit by him, bewildered by the antagonistic stare he had given him.

Keith didn't look up as he set his book on the table and took his seat, but he saw Shiro's pusture change from the corner of his eye. He was leaning away from Keith, sitting on the extreme edge of his chair and averting his face like he had smelt something rancid. Inconspicuously, Keith sniffed his hair. It smelt like strawberries, the scent of Krolia's shampoo she had lent to Keith. It seemed an innocent enough odor. He let his hair fall over his right shoulder, making a dark curtain between them, and tried to pay attention to the teacher.

Unfortunately the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something Keith had already studied. He took noted carefully anyway, always looking down.

He couldn't stop himself from looking occasionally through the screen of his hair at the strange boy seated next to him. During the whole class, he never once relaxed his stiff position on the edge of his chair, sitting as far away from Keith as humanely possible. Keith could see his hand on his left leg was clenched into a fist, tendons standing out under his pale skin. This, too, Shiro never relaxed. He had the long sleeves of his white shirt pushed up to his elbows, and his forearm was unsurprisingly hard and muscular beneath his light skin. He wasn't nearly as skinny as he looked next to his burly, hunk of a brother. ;)

The class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because the day was finally coming to a close, or because Keith was waiting for his tight fist to loosen? It never did; he continued to sit so still it looked as if he wasn't inhaling or exhaling at all. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behavior? Keith questioned his judgement on Nyma's bitterness at lunch today. Maybe she was not as resentful as he had thought in the first place.

It couldn't have anything to do with him, Keith though. He didn't know him from Eve.

Keith peeked up at him one more time, and regretted it. He was glaring down at Keith again, his black eyes full of revulsion. As Keith flinched away from him, shrinking against his chair, the phrase if looks could kill suddenly ran through his mind. 

At that moment, the bell rang loudly, making Keith jump, and Shiro Gunderson was out of his seat. Fluidly he rose- he was much taller than Keith had originally thought- his back to Keith, and Shiro was out the door before anyone else was even out of their seat.

Keith sat frozen in his seat, staring blankly after Shiro. He was so mean, Keith thought. It wasn't fair. Keith began gathering up his things slowly, trying to block the anger that filled him, for fear that his eyes would tear up. For some reason, his anger was directly hardwired into his tear ducts. He usually cried when he was angry, a humiliating tendency.

"Aren't you Chief Kogane's son?" a male voice asked.

Keith looked up to see a cute baby-faced boy, his chestnut brown hair carefully gelled into orderly curls, smiling at Keith in a friendly way. He obviously didn't think Keith smelt bad.

"Keith," he corrected him, with a smile.

"I'm Lance."

"Hi, Lance."

"Do you need any help finding your next class?"

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I can find it."

"That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled, though it wasn't that big of a coincidence in a school this small.

They walked to class together; he was a chatterer- he supplied most of the conversation, which overall made it easier for Keith. He had lived in Cuba till he was ten, so he knew how Keith felt about the sun. It turned out he was in Keith's English class also. He was the nicest person Keith had met today.

But as they were entering the gym, he asked, "So did you stab Shiro Gunderson with a pencil or what? I've never seen him act like that."

Keith cringed. So he wasn't the only one who had noticed. And, apparently, that wasn't Shiro Gunderson's usual behavior. Keith decided to play dumb.

"Was that the boy I sat next to in Biology class?" He asked artlessly. 

"Yes," Lance said. "He looked as if he was in pain or something."

"I don't know," Keith responded. "I've never spoken to him."

"He's a weird guy." Lance lingered by Keith instead of heading to the dressing room. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

Keith smiled before heading into the boys locker room door. Lance was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease Keith's irritation.

The Gym teacher, Coach Mituna, found Keith a uniform but didn't make him dress down for today's class. At home, only two years of Physical Education were requires. Here, Physical Education was mandatory for all four years. Forks was literally Keith's personal hell on Earth. (Thank goodness my high school only has one year, I would legitimately disintegrate.)

Keith watched four volleyball games running simultaneously. Remembering how many injuries he had sustained- and inflicted- playing volleyball, he suddenly felt faintly nauseated. 

The final bell rang at last. Keith walked slowly to the office to turn in his paperwork. The rain had drifted away, but the wind was strong, and colder. Keith wrapped his arms around himself. 

When Keith walked into the warm office, he almost turned right around and walked straight back out.

Shiro Gunderson stood at the desk in front of Keith. He recognized again that black and white hair. He didn't appear to notice the sound of Keith's entrance. So, Keith stood pressed against the back wall, waiting for the receptionist to be free.

Shiro was arguing with her in a low, attractive voice. Keith quickly picked up the gist of the argument. He was trying to trade from sixth-hour Biology to another time- any other available time.

Keith just couldn't believe that this was about him. It had to be something else, something that happened before he had entered the Biology class room. The look on Shiro's face must have been about another aggravation entirely. It was impossible that this stranger could take such a sudden, intense dislike to Keith.

The door opened again, and the cold wind suddenly gusted through the room, rustling the papers on the desk, swirling Keith's hair around his face. The girl who had came in merely stepped to the desk, placed a note in the wire basket, and walked out again. But Shiro Gunderson's back stiffened, and he turned around slowly to glare at Keith- his face was absurdly handsome- with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, Keith felt a thrill of genuine fear strike through his entire being, raising the hair on his arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled him more than the freezing wind had. Shiro turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then." he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And he turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared out of the door.

Keith went meekly to the desk, his face white for once instead of red, and handed her the signed slip.

"How did your first day go, dear?" the receptionist asked maternally.

"Fine." Keith lied, his voice weak. She didn't look convinced.

When he got to the truck, it was almost the last car in the lot. It seemed like a haven, already having the closest thing to home he had in this damp green hole. He sat inside for a while, just staring out of the windshield blankly. But soon he was cold enough to need the heater, so he turned the key and the engine roared to life. He headed back to Krolia's house, fighting tears the whole way there.


	3. Open Book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I just started rewatching The Simpsons whilst I'm in the middle of BNHA. And I'm hardcore procrastinating but I'll try to post the next chapter by Friday 2/8/19 <3 Thank you for reading.

The next day was better... and worse.

It was better because it wasn't raining yet, though the clouds were dense and opaque. It was easier because Keith knew what to expect of his day. Lance came to sit next to Keith in English, and walked him to his next class, with Chess Club Rolo glaring at Lance all the while; that was flattering. People didn't look at Keith quite as much as they did yesterday. He sat with a big group at lunch that included Lance, Rolo, Nyma, and several other people whose names and faces Keith now remembered. He began to feel like he was treading water, instead of drowning in it.

It was worse because Keith was tires; he still couldn't sleep with the wind echoing around the house. It was worse because Mrs. Captor called on Keith in Trig when his hand wasn't raised and he had the wrong answer. It was miserable because he had to play volleyball, and the one time he didn't cringe out of the way of the ball, he hit his teammate in the head with it. And it was worse because Shiro Gunderson wasn't at school at all.

All morning Keith was dreading lunch, fearing his bizarre glares. Part of Keith wanted to confront him and demand what his problem was with Keith. While he was lying sleepless in his bed, Keith even imagined what he would say. But he knew himself too well to think he would really have the guts to do it. He made the Cowardly Lion look like the terminator.

But when he walked into the cafeteria with Nyma- trying to keep his eyes from sweeping the place for him, and failing entirely- he saw that the four siblings of sorts were sitting together at the same table, and Shiro was not with them.

Lance intercepted them and steered them to the table. Nyma seemed elated by the attention, and her friends quickly joined them. But as Keith tried to listen to their easy chatter, he was terribly uncomfortable, waiting nervously for the moment Shiro would arrive. Keith hoped that he would simply ignore him when he came, and prove Keith's suspicions false.

Shiro didn't come, and as time passed Keith grew more and more tense.

He walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, Shiro still hadn't showed. Lance, who was taking on the qualities of a chocolate lab, walked faithfully by Keith's side to class. He held his breath at the door, but Shiro Gunderson wasn't there, either. Keith exhaled and went to his seat. Lance followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. He lingered by Keith's desk till the bell rang. Then he smiled at Keith wistfully and went to sit by a girl with braces and a bad perm. It looked like Keith was going to have to do something about Lance, and it wouldn't be easy. In a town like this, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, diplomacy was essential. Keith had never been enormously tactful; he had no practice dealing with overly friendly boys or girls.

Keith was relieved that he had the desk to himself, that Shiro was absent. He told himself that repeatedly. But he couldn't get rid of the nagging suspicion that he was the reason that Shiro didn't bother showing up to school. It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to think that he could affect anyone that strongly. It was also impossible. And yet he couldn't stop worrying that it might just be true given the circumstances.

When the school day was finally done, and the blush was fading off of his cheeks from the mortifying volleyball incident, he changed quickly back into his jeans and dark red sweater. He hurried from the boys' locker room, pleased to find that he had successfully evaded his Labrador friend for the moment. He walked swiftly out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. Keith got in his truck and dug through his bag to make sure he had what he needed.

Last night Keith discovered that Krolia couldn't cook much besides fried eggs and some green goop she called 'nutritious'- more like poisonous, Keith mused. So he requested that he would be assigned to kitchen detail for the duration of his stay. She was willing enough to hand over the keys to the banquet hall. Keith also found out that she had no food in the house. So he had his shopping list and the cash from the jar labeled FOOD MONEY, and Keith was on his way to the Thriftway.

He gunned his deafening engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned his direction, and backed carefully into a place in the line cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As Keith waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else's car, he saw the Gundersons and the Holt twins getting into their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. He hadn't noticed their outfits before- he had been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that Keith looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. With their remarkable good looks, the style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and still pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money. But as far as Keith could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn't look as if it bought them any acceptance here.

No, he didn't fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; Keith couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of beauty.

They looked at his noisy truck as he passed them, just like everyone else. Keith kept my eyes straight forward and was relieved when he was finally free of school grounds.

The Thriftway was not far from the school, just a few streets south, off the highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. Keith did the shopping at home, and he fell into the pattern of the familiar task gladly. The store was big enough inside that he couldn't hear the rain on the roof to remind him where he was.

When he got home, he unloaded all the groceries, stuffing them in wherever he could find an open space. Keith hoped Krolia wouldn't mind. He wrapped potatoes in foil and stuck them into the oven to bake, covered a steak in marinade and balanced it on top of a carton of eggs in the fridge.

When he was finished with that, he took his book bag upstairs. Before starting his homework, he changed into a pair of dry sweats, pulled his damp hair up into a ponytail, and checked his email for the first time. He had three messages.

"Keith," his dad wrote...

Re: Dad// Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I'm almost finished packing for Florida, but I can't find my Carhartt Jacket. Do you know where I put it? Sandra says hi. Dad.

Keith sighed and went to the next. It was sent eight hours after the first.

"Keith," he wrote...

Re: Re: Dad// Why haven't you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Dad.

The last was from this morning.

Re: Re: Re: Dad// Keith Akira Kogane, If I haven't heard back from you by 5:30 p.m. today I'm calling Krolia.

Keith checked the clock. He still had an hour, but his dad was well known for jumping the gun.

Re: Re: Re: Dad// Re: Keith// Dad, calm down. I'm writing right now. Don't do anything rash. Keith.

Keith sent that and began.

Re: Re: Re: Dad// Re: Re: Keith// Dad, Everything is great. Of course it's raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn't bad, just a little repetitive. I met some nice kids who sit by me at lunch. Your jacket is at the dry cleaners- you were supposed to pick it up Friday. Krolia bought me a truck, can you believe it? I love it. It's old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me. I miss you, too. I'll write again soon, but I'm not going to check my email every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you. Keith.

Keith had decided to read Wuthering Heights- the novel his English class was currently studying in English- yet again for the fun of it, and that's what Keith was doing when Krolia came home. He had lost track of time, and he hurried down stairs to take the potatoes out of the oven and put the steak in the broil.

"Keith?" his mother called out when he heard Keith on the stairs.

"Hey, Mom, Welcome home."

"Thanks." She hung up her gun belt and stepped out of her boots as Keith bustled around in the kitchen. As far as Keith was aware, she had never shot the gun on a job. But she kept it ready. When he came here as a child, she would always remove the bullets as she walked through the door. Keith guessed she considered him old enough now not to shoot himself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot himself on purpose.

"What's for dinner?" she asked warily. Keith's father was an imaginative cook, and his experiments weren't always edible. Keith was surprised, and sad, that Krolia seemed to remember that far back.

"Steak and potatoes," Keith answered, and she looked relieved.

She seemed to feel awkward standing in the kitchen and doing nothing; she lumbered into the living room to watch TV while Keith worked. They were both more than comfortable that way. Keith made a salad while the steaks cooked, and set the table.

Keith called her in when dinner was ready, and she sniffed appreciatively as she walked into the room. 

"Smells good, Keith."

"Thanks."

They ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't uncomfortable. Neither of them were bothered by the quiet. In some ways, they were well suited with living together.

"So, how did you like school? Have you made any friends?" she asked as she was taking seconds from the counter.

"Well, I have a few classes with a girl named Nyma. I sit with her friends at lunch. And there is this boy, Lance, who is very friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception, Keith mused.

"That must be Lance McClain. Nice kid- nice family. His dad owns the farmers market just outside of town. He makes a good living off of all of the backpackers who come through here."

"Do you know the Gunderson family?" Keith asked hesitantly.

"They... the kids... are a little different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."

Krolia surprised Keith by letting her face take an angry expression.

"People in this town," she muttered. "Dr. Holt is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary he makes here," she continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have him- lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town. He's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well-behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all of those adopted teenagers. I thought that we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature- I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should- camping trips every other weekend... Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."

It was the longest speech Keith had ever heard Krolia make.

She must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.

Keith backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me, I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," he added, trying to be more complimentary.

"You should see the doctor," Krolia said, laughing.

"It's a good thing he's happily married. A lot of the nurses at the hospital have a hard time concentrating on there work with him around."

They lapsed back into silence as they finished eating. She cleaned the table while Keith started on the dishes by hand- no dishwasher- he went upstairs unwillingly to work on his math homework. He could feel tradition in the making.

That night it was finally quiet. Keith fell asleep quickly, exhausted.

The rest of the week was uneventful. Keith got used to the routine of his classes. By Friday he was able to recognize, if not name, almost all of the students at school. In Gym, the kids on his team learned not to pass him the ball and to step quickly in front of him if the other team tried to take advantage of his weakness. He happily stayed out of their way.

Shiro Gunderson didn't come back to school.

Every day, Keith watched anxiously until the rest of the Gundersons entered the cafeteria without him. Then Keith could relax and join the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it was centered around a trip to La Blade Ocean Park in two weeks that Lance was putting together, Keith was invited, and he had agreed to go, more out of politeness than desire. Beaches should be hot and dry.

By Friday Keith was perfectly comfortable entering his Biology class, no longer worried that Shiro would be there. For all he knew, Shiro had dropped out of school. Keith tried not to think about him, but he couldn't totally suppress the worry that he was responsible for Shiro's continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.

His first weekend at Forks passed without incident. Krolia, unused to spending time in the usually empty house, worked most of the weekend. Keith cleaned the house, got ahead on his homework, and wrote his dad a more bogusly cheerful e-mail. He did drive to the library Saturday, but it was poorly stocked so he didn't bother getting a card; he would have had to make a date to visit Olympia or Seattle soon and find a good bookstore. He wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got... and shuddered at the thought.

The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so Keith was able to sleep well.

People greeted Keith in the parking lot Monday morning. He didn't know all of their names, but he waved back and smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but happily not raining. In English, Lance took his accustomed seat by Keith's side. They had a pop quiz of Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy. 

All in all, Keith was feeling a lot more comfortable than he had thought he would feel by this point. More comfortable than he had ever expected to feel here.

When they walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. Keith could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind bit as his already red cheeks, and nose.

"Wow," Lance said. "It's snowing."

Keith looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past his face.

"Ew." Snow. There went his good day.

Lance looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"

"No. That means its too cold for rain." Obviously.

"Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in pretty snowflakes- you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-Tips."

"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" he asked incredulously.

"Sure I have," Keith paused. "On TV."

Lance laughed. And then a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of Keith's head. They both turned to see where it came from. Keith had his suspicions about Rolo, who was walking away, his back towards them- in the wrong direction for his next class. Lance apparently had the same notion. He bent over and began scraping together a pile of the white mush.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" Keith kept walking as he spoke. 

"Once people start throwing wet stuff, I go inside."

Lance just nodded, his eyes on Rolo's retreating figure.

Throughout the morning, everyone chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the new year. Keith kept his mouth shut. Sure, it was drier than rain- until it melted in your socks.

Keith walked silently to the cafeteria with Nyma after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. Keith kept a binder in his hands, ready to use it as a shield if necessary. Nyma thought he was hilarious, but something in his expression kept her from lobbing a snowball at him herself.

Lance caught up to them as they walked through the doors, laughing, with ice melting the spikes in his hair. He and Nyma were talking animatedly about the snow fight as they got in line to buy food. Keith glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then froze where he stood. There was five people at the table.

Nyma pulled on his arm.

"Hello? Keith? What do you want?"

Keith looked down; his ears were hot. He had no reason to feel self-conscious, he reminded himself. He hadn't done anything wrong.

"What's with Keith?" Lance asked Nyma.

"Nothing," Keith answered. "I'll just get a soda today." he caught up to the end of the line.

"Aren't you hungry?" Nyma asked.

"Actually, I feel a little sick," he said, his eyes still on the floor.

Keith waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to the table, his eyes on his feet.

He sipped his soda slowly, his stomach churning. Twice Lance asked, with unnecessary concern, how he was feeling. Keith told him it was nothing, but he was wondering if he should play it up and escape to the nurses office for the next hour.

Ridiculous. He shouldn't have to run away.

Keith decided to permit himself one glance at the Gunderson family's table. If Shiro was glaring at Keith, he would skip Biology, like the coward he was.

He kept his head down and glanced up under his lashes. None of them were looking his way, he lifted his head a little.

They were... laughing. Shiro, Matt, and Hunk all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Pidge and Allura were leaning away as Matt shook his dripping hair toward them. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else- only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of everybody else.

But aside the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and Keith couldn't quite pinpoint what the difference was. He examined Shiro the most carefully. His skin was less pale, Keith decided- flushed from the snow fight maybe- the circles under his eyes much less noticeable. But there was something more. Keith pondered, staring, trying to isolate the change.

"Keith, what are you staring at?" Nyma intruded, her eyes following Keith's stare.

At that precise moment, Shiro's eyes flashed over to meet his.

Keith dropped his head, letting his hair fall to conceal his face. He was sure, though, in the instant their eyes met, that Shiro didn't look harsh or unfriendly as he had the last time Keith had seen him. He looked merely curious again, unsatisfied in some way.

"Shiro Gunderson is staring at you," Nyma giggled in his ear.

"He doesn't look angry, does he?" Keith couldn't help asking.

"No," she said, sounding confused by his question, "Should he be?"

"I don't think he likes me," Keith confided. He still felt queasy. He put his head down on his arm.

"The Gundersons don't like anybody... well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But he's still totally staring at you."

"Stop looking at him," Keith hissed.

She snickered, but she looked away. Keith raised his head to make sure that she did, contemplating violence if she resisted.

Lance interrupted them then- he was planning an epic blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted them to join. Nyma agreed enthusiastically. The way she looked at Lance left little doubt that she would be up for anything he suggested. Keith kept silent. He would have to hide in the gym until the parking lot cleared.

For the rest of lunch hour he very carefully kept his eyes at his own table. He decided to honor the bargain he had made with himself. Since Shiro didn't look angry, he would go to Biology. His stomach did frightening little flips at the thought of sitting next to Shiro again.

He really didn't want to walk to class with Lance as usual- he seemed to be a popular target for the snowball snipers- but when they went to the door, everyone beside Keith groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. Keith pulled his hood up, secretly pleased. He would be free to go straight home after Gym.

Lance kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.

Once inside the classroom, Keith saw with relief that his table was still empty. Mrs. Trigel was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and a box of slides to each table. Class didn't start for a few minutes, and the room buzzed with conversation. He kept his eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of his notebook.

He heard very clearly when the chair next to him moved, but his eyes stayed carefully focused on the pattern he was drawing.

"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.

Keith looked up, stunned that he was speaking to him. Shiro was sitting as far way from him as the desk allowed, but his chair was angled towards Keith. Shiro's hair was dripping wet, disheveled- even so, he looked like he just finished shooting a commercial for hair gel. His dazzling face was friendly, open, a slight smile on his flawless lips. But his eyes were careful.

"My name is Takashi Shirogane Gunderson, but you can call me Shiro, since that is a mouthful," he continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Keith Kogane."

Keith's mind was racing with confusion. Had Keith made up the whole thing? He was perfectly polite now. Keith had to speak, Shiro was waiting. But he couldn't think of anything conventional to say.

"H-How do you know my name?" Keith stammered.

Shiro laughed a soft, enchanting laugh.

"Oh I think everyone knows your name. The whole town has been waiting for you to arrive."

Keith grimaced. He knew it was something stupid like that.

"No," he persisted stupidly. "I meant why did you call me just Keith?"

He seemed confused. "Do you prefer Chief Kogane's son?"

"No, no. I like Keith," he said. "But I don't think Krolia- I mean my mom- uses my actual name behind my back. I think she just says 'my son' or 'my kid'- that's what everyone here seems to know me as." Keith tried to explain, feeling like an utter moron.

"Oh." Shiro let it drop. Keith looked away awkwardly.

Thankfully, Mrs. Trigel started class at that moment. He tried to concentrate as she explained the lab they would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of ordder. Working as lab partners, they had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. They weren't supposed to use their books. In twenty minutes, she would be coming around to see who got it right.

"Get started," she commanded.

"Wanna go first, partner?" Shiro asked. Keith looked up to see him smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that Keith could only stare at him like an idiot.

"I could start, if you wish." Keith complied.

Keith was showing off, just a little. He had already done this lab, and he knew what he was looking for. It should be easy. He snapped the first slide into place under the microscope and adjusted it quickly to the 40X objective. He studied the slide briefly.

His assessment was confident. "Prophase."

"Do you mind if I look?" Shiro asked as Keith began to remove the slide. His hand caught Keith's, to stop him, as he asked. His fingers were ice-cold, like he had been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why Keith jerked his hand away so quickly. When he touched him, it stung his hand as if an electric current had passed through them.

"I'm sorry," Shiro muttered, pulling his hand back immediately. However he continued to reach for the microscope. Keith watched him, still staggered, as Shiro examined the slide for an even shorter time than Keith had.

"Prophase," he agreed, writing it neatly in the first space on their worksheet. He swiftly switched out the first slide for the second, and then glanced at it cursorily.

"Anaphases," he murmured, writing it down as he spoke.

Keith kept his voice indifferent. "May I?"

Shiro smirked and pushed the microscope towards him.

Keith looked through the eyepiece eagerly, only to be disappointed. Damn it, he was right.

"Slide three?" Keith held out his hand without looking at Shiro.

He handed it to him; it seemed like Shiro was being careful not to touch his skin again.

Keith took the most fleeting look he could manage.

"Interphase." Keith passed him the microscope before he could ask for it. He took a swift peek, and then wrote it down. Keith would have written it while he looked, but his clear, elegant script intimidated him. He didn't want to spoil the page with his clumsy scrawl.

They were finished before anyone else was close. Keith could see Lance and his partner comparing two slides again and again, with another group who had their book open under the table. 

Which left Keith with nothing to do but try not to look at Shiro... unsuccessfully. He glanced up, and Shiro was staring at him, the same inexplicable frustration in his eyes. Suddenly Keith identified that subtle difference in Shiro's face.

"Did you get contacts?" Keith blurted out unthinkingly.

He seemed puzzled by Keith's unexpected question. "No."

"Oh." Keith mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."

Shiro shrugged, and looked away.

In fact, Keith was sure that there was something different. He vividly remembered the flat black color of his eyes the last time he glared at him- the color was striking against the background of his pale skin and white forelock. Today, his eyes were a completely different color. a strange pale grey, darker than a thundercloud, but with the same gunmetal tone. Keith didn't understand how that could be, unless he was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making Keith crazy in the literal sense of the word.

He looked down. Shiro's hands were clenched into fists again.

Mrs. Trigel came to their table then, to see why they weren't working. She looked over their shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.

"So, Shiro, didn't you think the Chiefs kid should get a chance with the microscope?" Mrs. Trigel asked.

"Keith," Shiro corrected automatically. "Actually, he identified three of the five."

Mrs. Trigel looked at Keith now; her expression was skeptical.

"Have you done this lab before?" she asked.

Keith smiled sheepishly. "Not with onion root."

"Whitefish blastula?"

"Yeah."

Mrs. Trigel nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"

"Yes."

"Well," she said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." She mumbled something else as she walked away. After she left, Keith began doodling on his notebook again.

"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Shiro asked. Keith had the feeling that he was forcing himself to make small talk with Keith. Paranoia swept over him again. It was like Shiro had heard his conversation with Nyma at lunch and was trying to prove Keith wrong.

"Not really," Keith answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. He was still trying to dislodge the stupid feeling of suspicion, and he couldn't concentrate.

"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.

"Or the wet."

"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live." Shiro mused.

"You have no idea," Keith muttered darkly.

Shiro looked fascinated by what he had said, for some reason Keith couldn't imagine. Shiro's face was such a distraction that Keith tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.

"Why did you come here, then?"

No one had asked Keith that- not straight out like Shiro did, demanding.

"It's... complicated."

"I think I could keep up," Shiro pressed.

Keith paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His dark stormy eyes confused Keith, and he answered without thinking.

"My father got remarried," he said.

"That doesn't sound so complex," he disagreed, but he was suddenly sympathetic. "When did that happen?"

"Last September." Keith's voice sounded sad, even to his own ears.

"And... you don't like her," Shiro surmised, his tone still kind.

"No, Sandra is fine. Too young, maybe, but nice enough."

"Why didn't you stay with them?"

Keith couldn't fathom Shiro's interest, but he continued to stare at him with penetrating eyes, as if his dull life's story was somehow vitally important.

"Sandra travels alot. She plays softball for a living." Keith half-smiled.

"Have I heard of her?" Shiro asked, smiling in response.

"Probably not. She doesn't play well. Strictly minor league. She moves around a lot."

"And your father send you here so that he could could travel with her." He said it as an assumption again, not a question.

Keith's chin raised a fraction. "No, he did not send me here. I sent myself."

Shiro's eyebrows knit together. "I don't understand," he admitted, and he seemed unnecessarily frustrated by that fact.

Keith sighed. Why was he explaining this to him? Shiro continued to stare at him with obvious curiosity.

"He stayed with me at first, but he missed her. It made him unhappy... so I decided it was time to spend some time with Krolia." His voice sounded glum by the time he finished.

"But now you're unhappy," he pointed out.

"And?" Keith challenged.

"That doesn't seem fair." He shrugged, but his eyes were still intense.

Keith laughed without humor. "Hasn't anyone ever told you? Life isn't fair."

"I believe I have heard that somewhere," he agreed dryly.

"So, that's all," Keith insisted, wondering why he was still staring at him that way.

His gaze became appraising. "You put on a good show," he said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."

Keith grimaced at him, resisting the impulse to stick out his tongue like a petulant five-year-old, and looked away.

"Am I wrong?"

Keith tried to ignore him.

"I didn't think so," he murmured.

"Why does it matter to you?" Keith asked, irritated. Keith kept his eyes away, watching the teacher make his rounds.

"That's a very good question," he muttered, so quietly that Keith wondered if he was talking to himself. However, after a few seconds of silence, he decided that was the only answer he was going to get.

Keith sighed, scowling at the blackboard.

"Am I annoying you?" Shiro asked. He sounded amused.

Keith glanced at him again without thinking... and told the truth again. "Not exactly. I'm more annoyed at myself. My face is so easy to read- my father always calls me her open book." Keith frowned.

"On the contrary, I find you very difficult to read." Despite everything Keith had said and Shiro had guessed, he sounded like he meant it.

"You must be a good reader then," he replied.

"Usually." Shiro smiled widely, flashing a set of perfect, ultrawhite teeth.

Mrs. Trigel called the class in order then, and Keith turned with relief to listen. He was in disbelief that he had just explained his dreary life to this bizarre, beautiful boy who may or may not despise him. He had seemed engrossed in their conversation, but now Keith could see, from the corner of his eye, that he was leaning away from him again, his hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.

Keith tried to appear attentive as Mrs. Trigel illustrated, with transparencies on the overhead projector, what she had seen without difficulty through the microscope. But his thoughts were unmanageable.

When the bell finally rang, Shiro rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as he had last Monday. And, like last Monday, Keith stared after him in amazement.

Lance skipped quickly to Keith's side and picked up his books for him. Keith imagined him with a wagging tail.

"That was awful," Lance groaned. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Gunderson for a partner."

"I didn't have any trouble with it," Keith said, stung by his assumption. He regretted the snug instantly. "I've done the lab before, though," Keith added before Lance could get his feelings hurt.

"Gunderson seemed friendly enough today," Lance commented as they shrugged into their raincoats. He didn't seem pleased about it.

Keith tried to sound indifferent. "I wonder what was with him last Monday."

He couldn't focus on Lance's chatter as they walked to Gym, and P.E. didn't do too much to hold his attention, either. Lance was on his team today. He chivalrously covered Keith's position as well as his own, so Keith's wool gathering was only interrupted when it was his turn to serve; his team ducked warily out of the way every time he was up.

The rain was just a mist as he walked to the parking lot, but he was happier when he was in the dry car. He got the heater running, for once not caring about the numbing roar of the engine. He unzipped his jacket, put the hood down, and fluffed his damp mullet out so the heater could dry it on the way home.

Keith looked around to make sure it was clear. That's when he noticed the still, white figure. None other than Shiro Gunderson was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from Keith, and staring intently in the direction of Keith. Keith swiftly looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in his haste. Lucky for the Toyota, Keith stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that his truck would make scrap metal out of. He took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of his car, and cautiously pulled out again, with greater success. He stared straight ahead as he passed the Volvo, but from a peripheral peek, he would swear he saw Shiro laughing.


	4. Phenomenon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got suspended from school so, eVEN MORE WRITING SHALL BE HAD!

When Keith opened his eyes in the morning, something was different.

It was the light. It was still the gray-green light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clear somehow. He realized there was no fog veiling his window.

Keith jumped up to look outside, and then groaned in horror.

A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of his truck, and whitened the road. But that wasn't the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid- coating the needles on the trees in fantastic, gorgeous patters, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick. Keith had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might be safer for him to go back to bed now.

Krolia had left for work before Keith got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Krolia was like having his own place, and he found himself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely.

He threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some juice from the carton. He felt excited to go to school, (can't relate) and that scared him. (same??) He knew it wasn't the stimulating learning environment he was anticipating, or seeing his new set of friends. If he was being honest with himself, he knew he was eager to get to school because he would see Shiro Gunderson. And that was very, very stupid.

Keith should be avoiding him entirely after his brainless and embarrassing babbling yesterday. And he was suspicious of Shiro; why should he lie about his eyes? Keith was still frightened of the hostility he sometimes felt emanating from Shiro, and he was still tongue-tied whenever he pictured Shiro's perfect face. He was well aware that his league and Shiro's league were spheres did not touch. So he shouldn't be anxious at all to see him today.

It took every ounce of his concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive. He almost lost his balance when he finally got to the truck, but he managed to cling to the side mirror and save himself. Clearly, today was going to be nightmarish, Keith mused.

Driving to school, he distracted himself from his fear of falling and unwanted speculations about Shiro Gunderson by thinking about Lance and Rolo, and the obvious difference in how teenage boys and girls responded to Keith here. He was sure he looked exactly the same as he had in Phoenix. Maybe it was just that the boys and girls back home had watched him pass slowly through all the awkward phases of adolescence and still thought of him that way. Perhaps it was because he was a novelty in Forks, where novelties were few and far between. Possibly his crippling clumsiness was seen as endearing rather than pathetic, casting him a damsel in distress. Whatever the reason, Lance's puppy dog behavior and Rolo's apparent rivalry with him were disconcerting. He wasn't sure if he didn't prefer being ignored.

His truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. He drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street.

When he got out of his truck at school, he saw why he had so little trouble. Something silver caught his eyes, and he walked to the back of the truck- carefully holding the side for support- to examine his tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Krolia had gotten up god knows how early to put snow chains on his truck. Keith's throat suddenly felt tight, He wasn't used to being taken care of, and Krolia's unspoken concern caught him by surprise.

He was standing by the back corner of his truck, struggling to fight back the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when he heard an odd sound.

It was a high-pitched screech, and it was fast becoming painfully loud. He looked up, startled.

He saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead the adrenaline rush seemed to make his brain work much faster, and he was able to absorb in clear detail several things at once.

Shiro Gunderson was standing four cars down from Keith, staring at him in horror. His face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same masks of shock. But the more immediate importance was the dark blue van that was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of Keith's truck, and Keith was standing between them. He didn't even have time to close his eyes.

Just before he heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit him, hard, but not from the direction he was expecting. His head cracked against the icy blacktop, and he felt something solid and cold pinning him to the ground. He was lying on the pavement behind the tan car he had parked next to. But he didn't have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with him again.

A low oath made him aware that someone was with him, and the voice was impossible not to recognize. Two long, white hands shot out protectively in front of Keith, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from his face, the large hands fitting providentially into a deep dent in the side of the van's body.

Then his hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging Keith, swinging his legs around like a rag doll's, till they hit the tire of the tan car. A groaning metallic thud hurt Keith's ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt- exactly where, a second ago, Keith's legs had been.

It was absolutely silent for one long second before the screaming began. In the abrupt bedlam, he could hear more than one person shouting his name. But more clearly than all the yelling, he could hear Shiro Gunderson's low, frantic voice in his ear.

"Keith? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." His voice sounded strange. Keith tried to sit up, and realized Shiro was holding him against the side of his body in an iron grasp.

"Be careful," he warned as Keith struggled. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."

Keith became aware of a throbbing ache centered above his left ear.

"Ow," he said, surprised.

"That's what I thought." Shiro's voice, amazingly, sounded like he was suppressing laughter."

"How in the..." Keith trailed off, trying to clear his head, get his bearings. "How did you get over here so fast?"

"I was standing right next to you, Keith," he said, his tone serious again.

Keith turned to sit up, and this time Shiro let him, releasing his hold around Keith's waist and sliding as far from him as he could in the limited space. Keith looked at his concerned, innocent expression and was disoriented again by the force of his thunderstorm-colored-eyes. What was he asking Shiro again?

And then they found them, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at Shiro and Keith.

"Don't move," someone instructed.

"Get Oscar out of the van!" someone else shouted.

There was a flurry of activity around them. Keith tried to get up, but Shiro's cold hand pushed his shoulder down.

"Just stay put for now."

"But it's cold," he complained. It surprised Keith when Shiro chuckled under his breath. There was an edge to the sound.

"You were over there," he suddenly remembered, and Shiro's chuckle stopped short. "You were by your car."

Shiro's expression turned hard. "No, I wasn't."

"I saw you." All around them was chaos. Keith could hear the gruffer voices of adults arriving on the scene. But he obstinately held on to their argument; Keith was right, and Shiro was going to admit it.

"Keith, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way." He unleashed the full devastating power of his eyes on Keith, as if trying to communicate something crucial.

"No." Keith set his jaw.

The gunmetal gray of his eyes blazed. "Please, Keith."

"Why?" Keith demanded.

"Trust me," Shiro pleaded, his soft voice overwhelming. Keith could hear the sirens now. "Will you promise to explain everything to me later?"

"Fine," Shiro snapped, abruptly exasperated.

"Fine," Keith repeated angrily.

It took six EMT's and two teachers- Mrs. Trigel and Mrs. Captor- to shift the van far enough away from them to bring the stretchers in. Shiro vehemently refused his, and Keith tried to do the same, but the traitor told them he had hit his head and probably had a concussion. Keith almost died of humiliation when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded Keith into the back of the ambulance. Shiro got to ride in the front. It was maddening.

To make matters worse, Chief Kogane arrived before they could get Keith safely away.

"Keith!" she yelled in panic when she recognized him on the stretcher.

"I'm completely fine, Krol- Mom," Keith sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me."

She turned to the closest EMT for a second opinion. Keith tuned him out to consider the jumble of inexplicable images churning chaotically in his head. When they had lifted him from the car, he had seen a deep dent in the cars bumper- a very distinct dent that fit the contours of Shiro's shoulders... as if he had braced himself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame....

And then there was his family, looking on from the distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval to fury but held no hint of concern for their brother's safety.

Keith just tried to think of a logical solution that could explain what he had just seen- a solution that excluded the assumption that he was insane.

Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. He felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading him. What made it worse was that Shiro simply glided through the hospital doors under his own power. Keith ground his teeth together.

They put Keith in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on his arm and a thermometer under his tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give him some privacy, he decided he wasn't obligated to wear the stupid-looking neck brace anymore. When the nurse walked away, he quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.

There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to Keith. He recognized Oscar Crowley (*cough* supernatural *cough*) from his Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around his head. Oscar looked a hundred times worse than Keith felt. But he was anxiously staring at Keith.

"Keith, I'm so sorry!"

"I'm fine, Oscar- you look awful, are you alright?"

As they spoke, the nurses began unwinding his soiled bandages, exposing a myriad of shallow slices all over his forehead and right cheek.

He ignored Keith. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong..." he winced as one of the nurses started dabbing at his face.

"Don't worry about it; you missed me."

"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone...."

"Umm... Shiro pulled me out of the way."

Oscar looked confused. "Who?"

"Shiro Gunderson- he was standing next to me." Keith had always been a terrible liar; he didn't sound convincing at all.

"Gunderson? I didn't see him... wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is he okay?" 

"I think so. He's here somewhere, but they didn't make him use a stretcher."

Keith knew he wasn't crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what he had seen.

They wheeled Keith away then, to X-ray his head. He told them there was nothing wrong, and he was right. Not even a concussion. He asked if he could leave, but the nurse said he had to speak with a doctor first. So he was trapped in the ER, waiting, harassed by Oscar's constant apologies and promises to make it up to Keith. No matter how many times he tried to convince Oscar he was fine, he continued to torment himself. Finally, Keith closed his eyes and ignored him. Oscar kept up a remorseful mumbling.

"Is he sleeping?" a musical voice asked. Keith's eyes flew open.

Shiro was standing at the foot of his bed, smirking. Keith glared at him. It wasn't easy- it would have been more natural to ogle.

"Hey, Shiro, I'm really sorry-" Oscar began.

Shiro lifted a hand to stop him.

"No blood, no foul." he said, flashing his brilliant teeth. He moved to sit on the edge of Oscar's bed, facing Keith. He smirked again.

"So, what's the verdict?" Shiro asked him.

"There's nothing wrong with me at all, but they won't let me go," Keith complained. "How come you aren't strapped down to a gurney like the rest of us?"

"It's all about who you know," Shiro answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."

The doctor walked around the corner, and Keith's mouth dropped open. He was young, he was had dark grey hair... and he was handsomer than any movie star Keith had ever seen. He was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under his eyes. From Krolia's description, this had to be Shiro's father.

"So, Mister Kogane," Dr. Holt said in a remarkable appealing voice, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Keith said, for the last time, he hoped.

The doctor walked to the lightboard on the wall over Keith's head, and turned it on.

"Your X-rays look good," he said. "Does your head hurt? Shiro said you hit it pretty hard."

"It's fine." Keith repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick scowl towards Shiro.

The doctors cool fingers probed lightly along Keith's skull. He noticed when Keith winced.

"Tender?" he asked.

"Not really." Keith had gone through worse.

Keith heard a chuckle, and looked to see Shiro's patronizing smile. Keith's eyes narrowed.

"Well, your mother is in the waiting room- you can go home with her now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."

"Can't I go back to school?" Keith asked, imagining Krolia trying to be attentive.

"Maybe you should take it easy today."

Keith glanced at Shiro. "Does he get to go to school?"

"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Shiro said smugly.

"Actually," Dr. Holt corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."

"Oh no," Keith moaned, covering his face with his hands.

Dr. Holt raised his eyebrows. "Do you wish to stay?"

"No, no!" Keith insisted, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly- Keith staggered, and Dr. Holt caught him. He looked concerned for Keith.

"I'm fine," Keith assured him again. No need to tell him Keith's balance problems had nothing to do with hitting his head.

"Take some Tylenol for the pain," the doctor suggested as he studied Keith.

"It doesn't hurt that bad," Keith insisted.

"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Holt said, smiling as he signed Keith's chart with a flourish.

"Lucky Shiro happened to be standing next to me," He amended with a hard glance at the subject of his statement.

"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Holt agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of him. Then he looked away, at Oscar, and walked next to the bed. Keith's intuition flickered; the doctor was on it.

"I'm afraid that you'll have to stay with us just a little bit longer," he said to Oscar, and then began checking his cuts. 

As soon as the doctors back was turned, Keith moved to Shiro's side.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" he hissed under his breath. Shiro took a step back from him, his jaw suddenly clenched.

"Your mother is waiting for you," Shiro said through his teeth.

Keith glanced at Dr. Holt and Oscar.

'I'd like to speak with you alone, if you don't mind," Keith pressed.

Shiro glared, and then turned his back and strode down the long room. Keith nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as they turned the corner into a short hallway, he spun around to face Keith.

"What do you want?" he asked, sounding annoyed. His eyes were cold.

His unfriendliness intimidated Keith. His words came out with less severity than he had intended. "You owe me an explanation," Keith reminded him.

"I saved your life- I don't owe you anything."

Keith flinched back from the resentment in Shiro's voice. "You promised."

"Keith, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about." Shiro's tone was cutting.

Keith's temper flared, and he glared defiantly at Shiro. "There is nothing wrong with my head!" Keith said, a little louder than he intended.

Shiro glared back. "What do you want from me, Keith?"

"I want to know the truth," he said. "I want to know why I'm lying for you. You stopped the van, moved my legs, and tossed the van away from us."

He was staring at Keith incredulously. But his face was tense, defensive.

"You think I stopped the van from hitting you with what, super powers?" His tone questioned Keith's sanity, but it only made Keith more suspicious. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor. He was so mad he could feel the tears coming; he tried to force them back by grinding his teeth together.

Keith merely nodded once, "Something like that." God, it sounded crazy, even to Keith's ears.

"Nobody will believe that, you know." His voice held a bit of derision now.

"I'm not going to tell anybody. I just want an explanation." He said each word slowly, carefully controlling his anger.

"In that case... I hope you enjoy disappointment."

They scowled at each other in silence. Keith was the first to speak, trying to keep himself focused. He was in danger of being distracted by his livid, glorious face. It was like trying to stare down a pissed off angel.

"Why did you even bother?" he asked frigidly.

Shiro paused, and for a brief moment his stunning face was unexpectedly vulnerable.

"I don't know," he whispered.

And then he turned his back on Keith and walked away gracefully.

Keith was so angry, it took him a few minutes until he could move. When he could walk, he made his way slowly to the exit end of the hallway.

Keith and Krolia drove home in silence, Keith could feel when she pinned him with a concerned glance.

Krolia broke the silence. "You need to call Tex."

"You told dad?!" Keith yelled, exasperated. 

"Sorry."

When they arrived at the house, Keith decided he might as well go to bed early that night. Krolia continued to watch him anxiously, and it was getting on Keith's nerves. He stopped on his way to grab three Tylenol from the bathroom. They did help, and, as the pain eased, he drifted to sleep.

That was the first night he dreamt of Shiro Gunderson.


End file.
